Let Them Eat Cake
by sapiosexual
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock are at Mummy's for Christmas dinner. Mycroft can't sleep, and cheats on his diet. Sort of. Based on a prompt. Mycroft/Cake. Rated for "sex" and brief language. I have no regrets.


Let Them Eat Cake

-a few years back-

Mummy Holmes never missed a thing. If Sherlock had performed experiments, she knew about them; if Mycroft had been out of the country, she knew about that. Growing up, the Holmes brothers became accustomed to being extremely careful around her so as not to have her humiliate or harass them in front of other people. It didn't help, of course, that last Christmas' dinner only included the three of them; she didn't have anyone else to scrutinize.

Sherlock pushed his peas around on his plate lazily. "Tell me what you've been up to this year," Mummy said, looking at him. She sniffed when she noticed him neglecting his greens.

"Just more consulting work for Scotland Yard," Sherlock replied quietly. He pursed his lips briefly; her brow furrowed in response. "Nothing too interesting; most of my cases turned out incredibly dull."

"What about that one with the man who was skinning toddlers?" She asked quickly, raising an eyebrow at him. Sherlock continued to poke at his peas. He sniffed, not looking up. "I thought so." Mummy smirked triumphantly before looking over at her eldest son.

Mycroft was sitting directly across from his brother, and tried to keep his eyes on him when he wasn't looking at his food. He stiffened as his mother turned to him, but looked her in the eye just the same.

"What about you?" She asked as if she didn't already know what his answer was going to be.

"Meetings, paperwork, the usual," he smiled sourly. Mummy snorted.

"Same answer, every year."

"The rest is classified, mother," he said patiently, trying not to sigh.

"Hardly. I can tell what he's up to in a glance." Sherlock scoffed.

Mycroft glared at him. "Perhaps you can only see what I want you to see."

"I doubt-"

"Boys, _please_." Mummy took a breath and had another bite of her ham. Without looking up from her plate, she asked: "Have either of you found a woman yet?"

Mycroft smirked deviously at his brother, Sherlock's face unreadable. "Well, Sherlock has been-" He was silenced by a swift kick to his shin.

"Has been what?" Mummy looked up, hopeful. It was Sherlock's turn to smile.

"I've just been so busy working I haven't had the time."

He found himself on the receiving end of a pointed fork. "Sherlock, you won't be young and pretty forever." She looked candidly at Mycroft, "And neither will you."

-that night-

As it was bordering on terribly late and awfully early, Mycroft left his bed quietly, taking the utmost care to miss the creaky floorboards in his mother's floors. The Holmes brothers had been forced to stay the night; Mummy whined about only seeing them once a year, when in all reality she wanted to see them as much as they wanted to see her. However, they had to at least try to be a normal family.

Slipping on his robe, Mycroft slithered out of his room and into the kitchen, rubbing his brow. He couldn't sleep. He didn't want to, either. Opening the cabinet, he took a glass from the shelf and got himself some water. As he sat there drinking, his eyes fell upon the untouched red velvet cake from last night. Mummy had insisted they skip dessert; Sherlock had no problem with that, but Mycroft felt she only said that so he wouldn't cheat on his diet.

No sign of his brother lurking about, he leaned against the cabinets and drank his water, staring at the cake. The diet he was supposedly on was strict and cruel, more so than the modern diets coming up these days. He hadn't had cake in over a year - he hadn't had any sweets in over a year, and it was getting to him. Yes, he had lost plenty of weight and could go off it any time he liked, but in the back of his head he thought he needed to stay on it so as not to gain anything back.

Mycroft licked his lips, sipping his water. "Cheating wouldn't hurt," he thought. His water gone, he sat the cup down beside him and continued to stare, his breathing faster now, shallowed. His eyes widened slightly and he put his fingertips to his collarbone, subconsciously rubbing at it. He bit at the inside of his cheek, mumbling "Cheating wouldn't hurt..." to himself. He slowly shook his head, convincing himself just a little cake could not possibly put that much weight on him, if any at all. This was getting ridiculous.

He took a deep, shaky breath, and realized that no one was there to stop him - not Anthea, not Sherlock, not Mummy. He could get away with this.

To his mystification, not only did he want to cheat on his diet, but the thought of it was almost...arousing.

Mycroft stepped closer to the island on which the cake was sitting, his fingers resting in front of it. Without thinking, he lifted the plastic lid from the cake. He bit his lip, and bent down, eyes closed, to smell it. Red velvet; his favorite. Leaning back up, he swallowed, only finding his mouth had gone dry. He slid the cake closer to him, dipped a finger in the cream cheese icing, and licked it off.

He left his finger in his mouth longer than usual, sucking it, enjoying it.

Aroused. Mycroft Holmes was feeling aroused and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt his pants tighten as his member hardened. He took another breath and swallowed again, denying it. He could smell the icing from where he was though, and even as it felt insane, he slipped his pants down just enough to release his cock. Staring, in wonder, he couldn't tell if he felt disgusted or excited by what he was about to do.

Mycroft slid his fingers up his shaft, shivering. Closing his eyes, he kept touching himself until an even crazier idea came into his mind. He paused, looking at the cake with uncertainty, and slowly put his hand into it, breathing faster. He scooped some in his hand and brought it to himself, rubbing it on. "_Oh_," he gasped quietly. With one hand he touched himself, the other gripped the countertop, his knuckles white. After some time he decided he needed more of the delicious dessert on him, and pulled a chair at the island over to sit the cake on it; it was waist high now.

He didn't hesitate as much this time, pushing into the cake, holding the back of it so it didn't move. Mycroft groaned, still keeping as quiet as possible. He couldn't wake his family up to this.

He relished in the feeling on the icing on himself, the dessert adding a texture he hadn't experienced previously. It was an entirely new feeling. He made a note to try this more often, when suddenly:

"_Mycroft!_"

His eyes snapped open to find Sherlock standing in the hallway to the kitchen, his hands over his face. Mycroft flushed furiously, humiliated, and yanked his pants back up, not even bothering to wipe himself off. He pulled his robe closed tightly.

"_What the fuck are you doing?_" Sherlock shook his head. "Oh God tell me this is all just a nightmare..." He peeked through his fingers with one eye. "Mycroft I respect the fact that you and I have different..._preferences_ when it comes to..._things_...but please do things like this in private, or not at all."

Mycroft's face turned from red to a deep maroon, and he avoided looking at his brother as he threw the cake in the garbage as quickly as he could.

"Mum's kitchen, Mycroft? Her kitchen? With...cake?"

Mycroft ignored him to the best of his ability. "What are you even doing up?" He snapped, rinsing his hands.

"I should ask you the same question."

Mycroft grunted, drying his hands. He turned to Sherlock, whose face reflected an emotion between utter disgust and amusement. He put a finger to his little brother's chest, glaring at him. "If you ever speak a word of this, to _anyone_, your body will never be located, understood?" His tone was murderous, Sherlock only sneering. "_Good_."

-years later-

Sherlock stopped playing with his violin long enough to shoot the most malevolent of smiles toward his brother, sitting opposite him. Mycroft had been pestering him more and more lately, and he just wanted him out of his hair.

"How's the diet?" He asked pointedly.

Mycroft stiffened, raising his eyebrows. "_Fine_."

**Author's Note:**

**Oh my gosh what did I just create? This was based on a prompt posted on the tumblr packofdogs, and I couldn't say no to the challenge. It was actually very fun to write, and I attempted to tie in a few other things to make it seem canon - why they don't have family gatherings for Christmas anymore, and the quote.**

**Please don't hate me.**

**Disclaimer: I am Mark Gatiss and I will kill again. Only not really.**


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